


net under the ledge

by hakanaii



Series: net under the ledge [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakanaii/pseuds/hakanaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the span of his lifetime it goes from bad to worse for Finnick Odair. Just after he hits his lowest and attempts to take his life, Annie Cresta becomes his net under the ledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

“If another customer doesn’t come in soon, I think I’mma freakin’ lose it,” Johanna throws her head into her arms and softly thumps it against the wooden bar top.

 

Annie knows her friend’s been at this job for too long to not find something to do during their dry spells but while she cleans and Peeta keeping fresh bake goods there isn’t much left for Johanna to do. She could ask the elderly couple sitting in the furthest corner of the restaurant if they want a refill for the umpteenth time, but she decides against it; something about not wanting to get a pair of dentures thrown at her head.   
  
“What’re we then, chop liver?” Haymitch Abernathy retorts with his usual degree of snark bringing Johanna to bolt upright as the chims toll from the door. “Though, you might be. Certainly look it.”

  
“Shut up. And you’re a regular customer to the point where I might almost let you start serving yourself,” Johanna sighs, pushing herself off the counter and twisting to start grinding beans for a fresh cup of columbian roast. “Or at least Odair’s secretary. He comes in here at least four times a day for the guy alone. That much coffee might kill him.”

 

Annie can’t help but laugh at the thought of it; it’s just so absurd, death by coffee. At least before the heart attack the person would be enjoying the last drink they’ll ever taste.

 

“I wish it would,” a much quieter and much more tired voice floats in from behind Haymitch as he sits down at the counter top, on their cushioned bar chairs. An unmistakable mop of gelled (or greasy, Annie can’t tell) bronze hair draws her attention up to the stormy green eyes and the dark smile that rests on Finnick Odair’s sullen face.

 

In the many months since he's walked into their establishment, despite it being on the bottom floor of the Reitz & Odair Insurance office building, he looks far worse for wear than after one of those long nights where he’d be at this very counter knocking back amaretto sours like they’re lemonade. His eyes rim with the deepest, darkest crows feet Annie has ever seen and his shirt, wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. No tie or blazer anywhere in his vicinity. There is no doubt about it that he's a hot mess.

 

Neither Annie nor Haymitch miss Finnick's quiet words, both glancing at each other; Haymitch with a much darker glint in his gray eyes.

 

"I don't think it'll be worth it," Haymitch mumbles back just as Johanna turns around to give him his coffee. She nearly drops the mug when she comes nose to nose with Finnick.

 

"Fuck, how long have you been there?"

 

Finnick smiles, ignoring her. “I think it would. If I were dead, hell, if we were all dead Cashmere would finally get the Board of Directors decisions to tip in her favour.”   
  
“Boy, that’s not how that’ll end up working…Gloss’ still on our side about the merger,” Haymitch pushes himself from the counter, whipping around to face Finnick who's lifelessly eyes remain fixed on a spot above Johanna’s head. “Frosty the Snow Bitch won’t budge as long as Gloss is against it!”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Finnick mumbles, running his hands through his hair as he stumbles onto his feet making at staggered beeline to the door. “Doesn’t matter, Cash always gets what she wants anyways.”

 

“Finnick!” Haymitch calls, aggressively but the young CEO is out the door and back into the luxurious lobby rushing up to the elevator leaving Haymitch’s efforts in vain.

  
Annie watches as he grasp for the clean, porcelain mugs sitting on the back counter drying and quickly snatches it out of his reach. She’s not in the mood to be cleaning up after one of Haymitch’s glass breaking therapy sessions.

  
“He isn’t getting better, is he?” Johanna asks as she pour the steaming black liquid into the disposal cups, dousing one steaming cup with sugar and cream.   
  
“Considering Cinna and I have to remind him to eat, sleep and take his meds I’d say better is a long way from where he's at,” Haymitch grabs the cups from her hands and slides off the stool. “It’d be nice though…”

 

“Do you think...some time off would help?” Annie asks before she realizes she’s spoken.

 

“That’s what Cashmere wants, which makes the office the best and worst place for him,” Haymitch grumbles as he makes his way to the doors.   
  
“Hey! Aren’t you gonna pay for those,” Johanna screeches, bringing a smirk to the CFO’s lips as he walks out of the glass doors and into the lobby. They know he’ll be back, and if not him, Finnick’s secretary Cinna.

 

The men at R&O are always good for their word.

  


***

  
If she hadn’t left for the train four minutes early Annie is sure she would have never crossed paths with him today. Peeta doesn’t accompany her in the adjacent plush waiting room chairs of Dr. Aurelius’ office on this Wednesday afternoon, where she sits with a crossword puzzle in her hands facing the door.

 

Just as Annie completes the penultimate four letter clue, the doors of the cozy waiting room swing open and crash against the walls making her pen fly across the newsprint. In rushes two of the New York City’s finest police officers ushering along a stunning yet bedraggled young man. His wild, sea green eyes and skewed bronze hair distract from the old v-neck, his pair of holey jeans and the bandage wound loosely around his neck.

 

Through the pounding of her heart and churning stomach, Annie can’t decide whether or not it’s appropriate to smile that it’s Finnick Odair that sits before her.

 

As of four weeks ago, everyone now knows his story, unfortunately.

 

At the ripe age of fourteen his father Troy Odair, a partner of Reitz & Odair Insurance, died in a plane accident on his way back to New York from Miami leaving not only the company but his family in shambles. Two years later, his mother killed herself, saying in her suicide note how she could no longer handle the loss of her husband.

 

From then, Finnick went from being the tall, quiet young man who stood in his father’s enormous shadow to being a boisterous, charming, womanizer as he worked his way through the bachelors-masters program in commerce at Miami University. At the age of twenty-one, not even a month after graduation, he was thrust into the big, black leather chair of his father’s office at the R&O Insurance building where he's worked the last six years until the CFO, Haymitch Abernathy, found him dangling from a noose not two minutes after Finnick jumped from his desk.

 

While his life has always been a flash of cameras and falsified smiles, since his attempt at suicide six weeks ago it feels like it’s been twice as much. The news stations run the Odair story almost as much as they ran the story about the President allegedly murdering a third of his cabinet members. Always with a new speculation, always with a connection to his mother, always with “What would Troy Odair do?”.

 

When their eyes lock, he cocks a lopsided grin bringing Annie’s gaze down onto her shoes and a rosy tint to her cheeks. Finnick takes the seat across from her upon instruction by the officers before they chat animatedly with the receptionist. Resting his head against the plush backing of the chair and turning his chin up to the ceiling, he closes his eyes. The bandage parting to reveal the puckered red ring around his neck.

 

“It’s nice to finally see a friendly face,” Finnick says, words coming up his throat like nails on a chalkboard. Her gasp seems to catch even more of his attention as those wild eyes come to focus on her.

 

“Um...yeah,” Annie draws her eyes back down to her hands, wringing them around each other four times.

 

“You’re not happy to see me,” He inquires slowly, voice quirking with a tinge of sadness.  
  
“That’s not it, I’m thrilled to see you! I’m glad you’re here, it’s just…”

 

“Just…?” He eggs her on.   
  
“A-are you gonna take some time off to … regroup?” Her nerves get the better of her and all Annie wants to do now is run but she’s trapped. With Finnick sitting beside the door he can easily step in her way.

 

“I think the last month was enough time, my doctors are telling me otherwise but they don’t have multibillion dollar companies to run,” Finnick smiles cheekly.

 

“Though, until my larynx and pharynx heal, if they heal at all, I have an excuse to keep silent during meetings. So, it’ll be like a working vacation,” his haggard chuckle has Annie sitting at the edge of her seat and the officers turning around in alarm.

 

“Doesn’t it hurt to talk to me then?”

 

Finnick shrugs with too much nonchalance. "Gotta say though, the 72 hours under surveillance could have gone better. If I wasn't in so much pain, I may have finally gotten to sleep for the first time this week."

 

"You still haven't been sleeping?!" Annie exclaims with alarm. She can’t imagine what it would be like to not sleep for a week. Not anymore at least, not since she moved in with Johanna and Peeta.

"Haven't you heard, sleep is for the dead." His grin is wolfish as he trails his gaze back up to the ceiling. However, the grin cracks as bright red blotches rim around his eyes and form along the apples in his cheeks.

 

"Yes, but I don’t think that’s something to be taking literally. The body needs sleep, it doesn't function without oxygen, water or rest,"  Annie knows it isn't her place to say but she was tired of listening to limitless excuses that floated around Finnick's life.

 

“How long have you been visiting Doc anyways?”  Finnick smiles more genuinely as he stares straight at her, his eyes no longer murky with anxiety.

  
“That’s not really important, is it?” Annie is more curt that she intends to be.

 

“Considering you know something about me, it’s only fair I know something about you other than your name."

 

Through the gruff, raspiness of his torn vocal chords Finnick Odair’s words still roll from his mangled tongue like silk from a loom. And those long, coppery lashes of his bat like the wings of a hummingbird. The familiarity almost enraptures her, but Annie remains poised in her seat. She refuses to give in to him, make her a pawn in his game of control as he tries to manipulate her like he does the press and the countless women he is photographed with by gossip magazines.

 

Parting her lips to claim once again how unimportant it is that he know anything about her, a hand falls on her shoulder and squeezes. She startles, almost falling from her seat, and whips her long, dark brown hair around to come face-to-face with Dr. Aurelius himself.

“My apologize, Annie. Are you ready?” Dr. Aurelius is like the evening tide rolling in over your feet while drinking a smooth cup of coffee. Cool, distant but surprisingly steady and reliable; because without fail, the tide always comes in and back out again.

 

Raising to her feet, she places the pen and newspaper back into her bag before sliding it up into the crook of her elbow. “Yes,” she says with assertion stepping closer to doctor, receding into his office.

 

“When you’re done,” Finnick calls out to her, stopping Annie in her tracks. “Maybe you and I could go grab a coffee or tea, which ever floats your boat.”

 

“Aren’t you scheduled for a session today?” She asks warily.

 

Finnick shrugs. “Not sure what Doc has planned for me today.”

 

Annie turns back to look at Aurelius who stands in the doorway with the smallest smile on his face. It’s so rare for her to see him emote.

 

“Mr. Odair has quite the schedule ahead of him, but today will be brief. Just a … get to know you session. If you’re willing to spare a few minutes at the end of our appointment, Annie, he can be all yours.”

 

It felt a little presumptuous to her, of Dr. Aurelius to give the green light on a request that she was going to shoot down prior to him speaking. What could he have possibly been thinking? What does he see in Finnick Odair that she doesn’t?

 

Wringing her hands around themselves in her obsessive compulsion, Annie takes a long deep breath she’s been instructed to take in high stress situations. Five seconds in, five seconds to hold, five seconds out.

 

“We can meet up at work...my work...once we’re done.”

 

The way Finnick straights up in his chair and bounds across the waiting room stand uncomfortably close to her. His fingers twitch in anticipation but his arms do not budge from his side. She raises her brow in question but instead of answering, Finnick takes two steps back.

 

“I’ll see you soon then?” he smiles carefully.

  
Bobbing her head she returns the smile and follows Dr. Aurelius from the waiting room to his inviting office.

 

“I think...you’re an excellent candidate as an ally for Mr. Odair, Annie,” the doctor speaks softly as he gathers his notes and miscellaneous files.

 

“Ally...” Annie tests on her tongue as she slides down into her seat. “Kinda like I’m his Peeta.”

 

“Exactly,” the doctor says falling down into the plush chair beside her, his eyes glancing at the clock. “Would you like to start at the four minute mark today?”

  
Annie shakes her head. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to end four minutes early.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

thank you to sohypothetically for the beta work and ro nordman for the banner. Enjoy!   


* * *

It’s one of those days where he does everything right yet everything goes wrong anyways. He takes his meds, eats and gets ample sleep, and yet he still feels tired, hungry and consumed by sadness. He is fidgety and unable to focus on Haymitch’s words as they sit down in the conference room with the other partners to go over the quarterly numbers.   
  
Finnick tries going to his safe place to replace all the shadows cast by Haymitch’s harsh words, but the image of sitting in his parents’ kitchen baking bread with his grandmother does nothing. “Deficit”, “merger”, “board of directors”, “layoffs” and “severance packages” blaze through like neon lights and he makes the mistake of looking over at Cashmere whose grinning from ear to ear. Of course she is, the woman is a sexual sadist; she gets off on watching people bleed dry under the heel of her stilettos.   
  
He tries to take a deep breath, but the air lodges itself in his throat like a wad of gum. How ironic would it be if this is how he died? Choking on his own breath instead of by that noose he spent months fashioning out of neckties. At least if he dies now, Cashmere will be around to see it.   
  
“Breathe through your nose!”

 

Why couldn’t they leave him alone and let him die already?

 

“Come on, Finnick, through your nose,” Cinna reiterates. Like everything else, Finnick follows his assistant’s commands like they were written in the Bible. Somewhere deep in his subconscious he must have wanted to live today. All these close calls are exhausting.  
  
Finnick sits back against the plush leather, throat sore from the wheezing and happily takes the glass of water that’s offered to him. He tries not to look  Cinna in the eye, he can’t handle that that stare of overwhelming concern right now. Yet, his bloodshot eyes peak under his lids over at Cashmere, whose sneer is ugly as her sharp, cobalt eyes roll while screaming “pathetic”.  

 

“You okay?” Cinna’s voice is smooth and calm. Like his mother’s. Finnick misses his mother.   
  
He parts his lips to speak but the words dry up on his tongue.   
  
“Let Cinna take you home, we can talk about all this lovely crap later,” Haymitch adds, not even batting a lash in Finnick’s direction. Not that he needs to; Haymitch has been dealing with this almost as long as he has, so it comes to no surprise. Gloss watches on with shared concern and motions that they’ll talk when the meeting’s over. Thank god for Gloss, at least Gersemi did something right by his son.

 

“How are things going with Dr. Aurelius?” Cinna asks, earning a dark look from Finnick as they head down to his office, causing him to throw up his hands in surrender. “Alright, don’t tell me. But you don’t need to change your meds or anything do you?”

  
“All that is fine,” Finnick says, surprising himself with how gruff his voice is. “I-I’m just having a Bad Day.”

 

Cinna nods like he has some inkling of what a Bad Day is like. Though, having been Finnick’s assistant since he started as CEO, maybe he has a better understanding than most as to what a Bad Day is like. Especially when Cinna’s the one who’s in charge of damage control. Thankfully, since Annie’s come around, it’s been a lot easier. So much so that Cinna finally has time for that man he's been crushing on (though Finnick can’t even manage to weasel out the first letter of a first name).

  
“Home it is, then.” Cinna smiles as he opens the door for Finnick to get into his office. HIs usually organized desk is an utter disaster: papers everywhere, file folders all over the ground. If today were any other day, he’d pick them up and leave it neat so that he could start the day fresh, tidy, and anxiety-free. However, he needed out today.   
  
Working against every cell in his body that screams in his compulsive mind, Finnick picks up his blazer, packs his laptop into his briefcase, and follows Cinna out of the room, off the floor and slowly but surely out of the toxic building with it’s poison for air and harpies for partners.

  


 

***

  


 

The thing Finnick likes most about Cinna is how thorough he is. How he makes sure nothing is out of place, so when he walks Finnick into his apartment, Cinna is there to make sure there is a cup of tea in his hands after he's changed into sweats and a t-shirt.   
Finnick loves that cup of tea. And it’s always a new flavour (Cinna’s quite the David’s Tea fanatic), but tonight is a classic; Glitter & Gold, Cinna’s favourite.   
  
“It’s got just the right amount of cinnamon,” says Cinna as the last drop slides onto his tongue. Finnick just offers his friend a tired, half-smile from where he sits in the lazy boy recliner with his legs pulled up to his chest. “The stronger the smell, the more it clears out the system, don’t you think?”  
  
Finnick gives a tiny shrug, closing his eyes and resting his head back. Enjoying the heat from the cup and the quiet. Silence is so hard to find in his racing mind, when the sound of his voice natters on and on; climbing over itself trying to leave sticky notes in every nook and cranny deeming each new thought more important than the last.   
  
All at once, it’s broken by the harsh vibrations of Cinna’s cellphone, making Finnick even more tense than when he left the office. Like he is the one being called back to resume his duties. Most of all, he hates the way it forces him to feel that rough movement, immobilizing him and leave a thousand more sticky notes in his brain.  

 

When Cinna doesn’t reach for his phone, Finnick shoots him a cold stare. Because whomever it is, they want something and they’ll want it now or else they’ll keep making the blasted phone vibrate. And Cinna hates when Finn smashes his phone, even though his friend always pays for a new one.

 

“I won’t be offended if you have to go,” Finnick breathes out. “You have a life too. Better that someone gets to go live theirs.”

  
It vibrates again but Cinna doesn’t budge. “It’s fine. He understands.”  
  
“Does he?” a bronze brow rises into the wayward waves of his fringe.

  
“He’s trying to; somedays are better than others. But he's worried about you none the less.” Cinna sighs, putting down his empty mug on the glass tabletop.

  
Finnick brushes his bangs out of his face and re-adjusts, placing his mug on the coffee table and his feet flat on the ground and leaning forward in scrutiny.  “He works in the office, doesn’t he?”

  
The phone vibrates again, this time Cinna picks it up. Typing furiously away at the touchscreen keyboard while keeping the device close to his chest. He can’t afford to keep secrets from Finnick, but every once in a while he gets some wiggle room.   
  
“I hate to keep him waiting and get him more riled up than he needs to be.” Finnick lounges back against the chair.  
  
“Are you okay to be by yourself?” Cinna inquires with uncertainty. He doesn’t want to leave now and get a call from Haymitch that Finnick died tomorrow morning. Haymitch; he’ll be home in about an hour. Who knew that Cinna could rely on Haymitch’s “fuck it, I’m going home and having a drink” mentality after eleven at night.

  
Finnick just rolls his eyes. “Just because I have this ever pulsing desire to die doesn’t mean I’m going to tonight. Dr. A would be really disappointed, we’ve been making so much progress.”

  
“Sarcasm?”

 

“God if I know,” Finnick rolls out of his chair and pads over to the elevator doors. (The best thing about being a millionaire and living in a penthouse suite in New York City - getting your own floor). “Well, aren’t you coming? It’s your date that you’re late for.”

  
“How’s Annie doing, by the way. I haven’t seen much of her lately.” Cinna slowly makes his way over to Finnick who has flown towards the chocolate stained doors.

 

Finnick shrugs, pushing the down button. “Neither have I, so I wouldn’t know either.”

 

“I thought you guys were regularly going out for coffee?”

  
“There’s no time right now. Not with potential mergers and Heavensbee calling every other hour. I can barely believe they were okay with me leaving the office during the quarterly meeting!”

 

The elevator dings, opening the doors onto an empty, gold carrel. Cinna sighs as his friend steps aside. “Just… call if you need anything, okay?”   
  
“I’ll be fine.” Finnick practically pushes him into the waiting loft. “You enjoy your date and tell him I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

  
“Finn-” Cinna’s words mumble and die as the heavy, wooden doors close, absorbing all sound and leaving Finnick to his delectable silence. But not for long.

 

 

 

***

 

 

He can’t keep the silence to remain steady no matter how many more cups of tea he makes. The sticky notes tack themselves on thick and fast to the walls of his mind, shouting words at him like a Howler.

  
  
_Why haven’t you finished the report? You’re sad again!? Worthless. Pathetic. Go home. It would have been easier if you died, you’re a waste of breath._

Finnick grabs his bottle of Grey Goose off the top shelf of the dining room liquor cabinet. Holding it like a newborn child, he falls onto the sofa, twists open the top, and gulps it down like it is water. However, Cashmere’s voice doesn’t stop; it becomes one with Gloss’ even, sultry tone that diminishes him further in it’s subtle way.

  
  
 _It’s fine, you don’t have to do it. Cinna and I will take care of it. Go home and rest. Have you eaten today, you know you should eat. Make sure you take your meds, too._   
  


Slipping his hands through his already messy bronze hair, he tugs until he can feel the pain in his scalp and fingers. But it isn’t enough, their voices only get louder and louder each time he tugs. It draws him further into a purgatory where his voice is nothing but the muffled whisper of a child at the bottom of a well: cold, wet and desperate to be rescued.

 

Taking another pull from the half-empty bottle of vodka, he sets it down on the glass table and picks up his cellphone. Wisely, Finnick has maintained enough control not to smash this one into smithereens because this was the one Annie touched when she typed her number into his contacts list.

 

Annie. Her name is the bright pink sticky note that dominates over the ugly yellow ones when he finds it sitting at the top of his contact list. Touching her name, the phone dials out.

 

One, two, three rings. When she picks up on the fourth it almost makes him smile.   
  
“Hello?” her voice blares through the bricks of his well with contagiously sweet laughter. He absolutely adores her laugh even more than the sea of freckles sprinkled sparsely under her eyes, across her nose, and up her arms. They must trail downwards, along her legs.

  
“Hello? Finnick, are you there?”

  
“Sorta,” he says with a croak. He's always only sorta been there. When he was younger it used to be a lot worse, there were weeks where he’d just lay in bed. Where days would pass and he’d be none the wiser if it were a Tuesday or a Saturday. Everyone but Penny must find his honesty alarming.

  
“What part of you is there?” She no longer sounds playfully and Finnick regrettably knows he's struck a chord.   
  
“The part that’s floating in a pool of vodka.” He giggles, falling back onto the crinkled leather.

  
“Where are you right now?” Why wouldn’t she laugh, he wants her to laugh. Stiff Annie isn’t any fun.   
  
“Cinna dropped me off at home. But he had to go and now I’m just sitting here floating away. I kinda like it though, I can’t hear her shrieking at me anymore.” _Because your pink stickies are covering all of her yellow ones._   
  
“I’ll be right there, FInnick. Don’t leave the apartment!” Her urgency makes him frown. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere, not when Haymitch’ll be stopping by. That’s just not something he wants to tackle; a terrified Haymitch. Especially when he’ll jump to conclusions. Not that Finnick doesn’t deserve to get treated this way - it’s his own fault really- but it’d be nice to not have to be coddled.   
  
“Will you stay on the line?” And right now, he needs her pink stickies to hold off any down-time between now and the time she arrives.   
  
“Sure. Just don’t move okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He listens on with patience to her even breaths, rustling of belongings and the muffled squabbles followed by the slam of her front door and the ding of the elevator.   
  
“You still there Finnick?”

 

“Yup. Everything okay?” He asks propping his feet up onto the table and staring up to the popcorn ceiling.   
  
Annie sighs. “Just Peeta being Peeta. Don’t worry about him. It’s nothing.”   
  
“Okie dokie.”   
  
“What was the weather like today?” Finnick can’t help but grin, he loves when they play this game together. Dr. Aurelius suggested it be a good idea to help redirect negativity and create safety by establishing a place that was crafted from positive memories.   
  
“It’s on the cusp of winter so it was perfect. No more humidity or hurricane warnings. Just an easy tide with temperate winds,” he answers, as he tries to ignore the sound of her driving up and out of her parking garage. Many times has he offered to buy Annie her own car (well, her dream car - a Fiat 500) but every time she refuses.   
  
“What’s it smell like?”   
  
Oh, that’s a tricky one. “Hmm...damp wood. And fresh bread. The one Abuelita makes with the seaweed…”

 

“What else?”   
  
“And...dryer sheets. Penny’s floral shower gel. Sebastian’s AXE. My dad’s aftershave that I took to using the weeks after he passed. I just...I didn’t wanna forget what he smelled like,” Finnick trails off. He keeps that treasured, half-full bottle of aftershave on the highest shelf of his medicine cabinet, right above his prescription of Fluoxetine. Never to use, but always to remember.

  
“How do you feel now?” Her voice echos and crackles from inside her car.   
  
“Warm…” he says with relief. “Like I’ve wrapped myself in a fleece blanket.” And his mind in blue stickies reiterates in his father’s teaching voice, his sister reading aloud, his brother’s whines, his mother’s rolling eyes and his grandmother’s straight-shooting snark. Maybe he can talk to the team about working out of the Miami branch.   
  
“That’s great, Finn. I’m coming up to your building now.” Annie smiles. “What would it be like if I were there now? At home in Miami with you.”   
  
“Just…” he sighs, euphorically. “Wonderful. Perfect. I wouldn’t want to float away again.”   
  
She pauses before speaking. “I’m inside the building, can you let me in?”   
  
“Yeah, one sec.” The great thing is that he can control the condominium door from an app on his phone. Punching in the code, there is a buzz and a click on the other end of line. Sixty-five floors to go. He could definitely hold on another 5 minutes. Maybe clean up a smidge, put the mugs in the dishwasher and the Grey Goose away. Start a new batch of Glitter & Gold.

 

 

***

  


The whistle on the kettle sounds just as the doorbell rings, startling Finnick ever so slightly. He knows she’s coming but something about it set him on edge. She might smell the booze on his breath and judge him. Turn tail and go right back down the elevator to the parking garage where she’ll go back to being all cozy with Peeta and Johanna.   
  
“Finnick,” she calls without hesitation, the click of her heels against the hardwood quick and light. “Finnick, where are you?”

“Here.” He pokes his head out from the around the wall the separates the main living room from the kitchen. Even with her hair in curly wisps of uncontrollable tangles, her sea green eyes wide and frantic, all he sees in the lounge pants, his oversized University of Miami t-shirt, and her beautiful face is that  everything is alright.

  
She doesn’t bother kicking off the wedges she’s wearing as she runs at him. With a one track mind, her arms wind around his neck, fingers knot through the curls at the nape of his neck, and she pulls him down to smash their lips together. Neither cares that their teeth are in the way or that the kiss is so hard it feels like it could break their jaws. It doesn’t matter.   
  
Annie Cresta is here with him and nothing else matters.   
  
His hands find her hips and he squeezes, lifting her up until her legs find his hips and snake around his waist. Crushing their chests together, they pivot and smash into the wall. Her lips part ever so slightly for his tongue to sweep along the seam and part her berry-tasting lips.   
  
Her hips drive into his abdomen driving a moan deep within his chest and his teeth down onto her bottom lip. She squeaks and draws away regretfully. Her fingers furl around tendrils of skewed hair.   
  
“What would I do without you, Annie Cresta?” Is all he can manage to say.   
  
“Piss off Haymitch,” she answer cheekily. She makes him laugh with a sincerity he can’t remember having existed and is absolutely wonderful.

 

For once, it is nice to see himself do everything right today and be rewarded for it.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

Annie tries her best to focus on the clicking of his mouse and the scribbling of his pen rather than the rattling of her beating heart against her rib cage. She’s tried everything from deep breathing to using that positive self-talk strategy Dr. Aurelius recommended.

  
However, neither were doing the trick. Her feet still feel like lead.

 

Turning back to the book in her hands, she reads one line before peering over the top of her book at her boyfriend where he sits smack in the middle of the open concept living room of his penthouse on the pristine white leather couch.

 

Concentration looks sexy on Finnick, except for when it eats at the edges of his core and threatens an explosion of emotion and endless tears. He's been doing so well, eating at least two meals a day, taking his meds at the proper intervals as instructed by the pharmacist and his sleep schedule improves when Annie stays the night. It would be a tragedy if he had an episode.  

 

In prevention of said episode, Annie’s done her best to come up with a way to get the CEO of Reitz & Odair Insurance to relax properly but she’s far too nervous to take the first step. Flirting has never been a strong suit for her, over the years there haven’t been many opportunities to practice. (Peeta volunteered to be her practice dummy but that was a little weird even for her).

 

So, she sits there, mustering up the courage to carry her feet across the hardwood floors onto the faux animal skin rug and drop herself into his lap.   
  
_‘Annie, what are you doing? Get your fabulous ass over there and park your keister where Odair can cup a sizable feel. What are you waiting for?’_

_‘I can’t.’ She fights against the internal voice of Johanna._

_‘Why not? Please tell me this is because you don’t think you’re sexy? Annie Cresta, you are one of the sexiest, confident women I have ever met.  Hell, sometimes you’re more confident than me. While that sounds like bullshit - and alright part of it is because you can’t be more confident than me or else you would have fucked Pretty Boy already - you are confident. I wouldn’t have wasted my time with being your friend, your roommate or your boss otherwise.  You’re a complete mess Annie Cresta, but I love you. Now go show him all that confidence you had when you stomped into my apartment the first time we met or else I will consent to Peeta being your flirting test dummy.  And we all know that’s worse than me pinching your ass so GO!’_

 

The prickle she feels in her arse almost feels like a pinch. Turning around to inspect the sensation, Annie realizes she’s on her feet. She twists roughly to stare at Finnick, hoping desperately that he hasn’t noticed the sudden movement.

 

Thankfully, he hasn’t. His bottom lip is still secure between his teeth as he scrolls through whatever email he's reading; those thick framed reading glasses of his sliding down his nose.

 

She closes her eyes and counts out the fifteen seconds needed for a deep breath. Carefully, toeing up behind the couch, Annie wraps her arms around his collarbone, her forearms brushing along the worming scars.

 

The leather squeaks as his back becomes rigid and only relaxes when he turns his head slightly to see Annie’s face beside his. Her eyes downcast and fixated on the documents in his hands.

 

“How’s it going there, Mr. CEO? Almost done with all those important papers?” she breathes into the shell of his ear.

 

Finnick nudges those sinewy arms of hers, coaxing them out from around him as he twists around to face her. But she doesn’t let go completely as her long beautiful fingers find his face, cradling his strong jaw in the palms of her hands and dragging him close. Just enough for their lips to touch.   
  
Cocking her head to the side, Annie watches under her lashes as Finnick’s sea green eyes flutter close and his lips part in anticipation.

 

With a smirk she pulls back, her thumbs carefully brushing along the smooth skin of his cheeks. Confusion laces his gaze once those brilliant eyes shoot open until they settle on the mischief etched in her features. 

“Are you flirting with me, Miss Cresta?” he coos.

 

Annie shrugs. “And if I am, will you come grab a glass of wine with me and then join me in bed?”

 

Finnick’s smile stretches right into his eyes. It’s been so long since she’s seen it.

  
“Yes ma’am!” he claims, bounding onto his feet, forgetting all that demands his attention for the woman who has captured it instead.

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 

“How was that? WIll that put a strike through my name on your To Do list?” Annie muses, snuggling up close to Finnick’s sweat soaked naked body after he finds his way back between his satin sheets.   
  
Sliding down from where he'd propped himself up against charcoal coloured headboard to rest on the satin turquoise pillows, Finnick hums in satisfaction. Making love to Annie had risen to the very top of his bucket list the day after she came running to his apartment, threw her arms around him and kisses every lonely thought away.   
  
“What about you? Will my name be crossed off yours?” he smiles smugly.

 

“You’re not on the list,” she mumbles, resting her head onto his chest and listening to the slow, even beats of his heart. Such a lovely rhythm.

 

“Ouch!” He cries with fake injury. “Really? You’ve had no aspirations to do the most eligible bachelor in New York City, Annie Cresta?”

  
Annie shrugs. Sex just isn’t that important to her.

 

“Well, if I’m not on it. Who or what is?” Curiosity gets the better of him.   
  
“Just what. And…” Annie shuffles until her face is buried deep within the crook of his arm and pillow.   
  
“You can’t hide from me, MIss Cresta.” Finnick grins, the fingers he has wraped around her torso find the ticklish spot between her hip bone and rips. Making her squirm until her face is flushed and eyes bright with her silent giggle.   
  
“You’ll just make fun of me.” she pulls out of his grasp and lays flat on her back. However, Finnick doesn’t let her far out of his reach; his long, dark fingers crawl up the side of her creamy skin that’s exposed to him until he reaches the erect nub from her breast.   
  
“Really? Do I seem like the type to do that?” He quirks a waxed, bronze eyebrow at her.   
  
“Absolutely!”   
  
“ I promise I won’t.”  
  
Annie sighs. “I-I want to go camping. In a tent. But not in a backyard. Peeta talks about the camping trips he used to go on with his Dad out in the woods. That’s what I’d like to do.”

  
“Camping...hmm… you’ve really never gone?” Finnick inquires without a hint a humour in his voice. “It’s never too late to go. How about next weekend; think you can get the weekend off?”

 

“Wait, that’s too short notice. And what about the office? Are you okay to drop everything and disappear off the grid for three days?”   
  
He finally lets out a long awaited laugh. “That’s the best thing about being CEO.”

  
“Finnick, you're being irresponsible! I can’t call into claim vacation days without a weeks notice.”

  
“They can’t say no to me, Annie,” he cooes seductively and rubs her nipple in gentle circles making her back arch.   
  
Turning to give him a dark look, she is met with Finnick’s wide, sea green puppy dog eyes. “Fine.” She caves. “Whatever you say, you’re the boss.”   
  
“Damn right I am.” He grins as he places a long kiss to her parted lips.   


* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hawthorne?!” Johanna grunts, grasping a fist full of his thick, black hair and forcing his head into the portal air conditioning unit he's squatting before. Maybe a little rattling will jumpstart the piece of shit machine. God knows they need it most now during this sweltering heat wave.

  
The fan situation - which is made up of one fan in the bedrooms and one in the television room - had driven Annie out of the house on day two. She claimed the constant whirring of the blades was keeping her up at night, so, she high tailed it to Finnick’s penthouse with its glamorous central air.

 

However, Johanna isn’t stupid. Having grown up in Tallahassee with Annie, she’s well aware the girl can hold her old in the heat. The girl’s tread deeper waters than the sweat she was pooling in, making Johanna fairly certain that Finnick probably pouted and flashed those wretched puppy dog eyes in hopes to coax Annie into his bed until the apartment was cool enough.

 

What genuinely impressed her though was how long Peeta toughed out the heat. For a guy who grew up in northern New Jersey with his bedroom windows wide open as he slept, she assumed he’d have been out the door after the first night, not the fourth. Which is when he packed up a few things, Brutus and temporarily moved in with Katniss - who blushed like a teenager at first mention of the living arrangement. It was rather cute.

  
Now, it’s just her, Gale Hawthorne and the piece of crap he agreed to fix for free as a favour.

 

“You can’t go around calling yourself a mechanic if you can’t even get two fucking wires to connect, Brainless!”

 

“Would you calm down for a sec there, Lizzie Borden.” She can hear the roll of his eyes. “It’s not that simple. The wires are fried because the stupid ass piece of junk is leaking. It’d be easier for you to just buy a new one.”

 

“Yeah? And are you going to pay for it, ‘cause last time I checked my bank account has nothing in it,” she chides, while watching Gale collect all his tools and throw them into the box with a raised brow.

 

“Get Annie’s boyfriend to buy you guys one. I bet it wouldn’t burn a hole into his pocket.”

 

“I’m not borrowing money from Odair.”

  
Standing abruptly, Gale turns around, gray eyes narrow and dark as he curls his long olive toned fingers under her jaw and up along her cheeks. “You gotta listen, Jo. I said nothing about borrowing. If you call it a necessity to her health, I’m sure you’ll be cashing a cheque for $600 dollars this very afternoon.”   
  
Looping her arms through his and yanking down, Johanna steps firmly on his inner foot loosening his grasp on her. He's damn lucky she didn’t follow through with kicking him in the balls like she wanted to. If anyone was gonna understand the humiliation that came with taking money when you’re poor, it would be Gale. He grew up in East Harlem for fucks sake, living out of public housing and off food stamps until he was twenty one.

  
“Alright,” Gale winces. “Fine, if you won’t get a new one, why don’t you stay with me?”   
  
When her heart drops to the bottom of her stomach, the echo reverberates in every part of her body.

  
“I’d rather take the money,” she replies curtly, dropping her brown eyes to her bare feet. She should really paint her toes.   
  
“Really, Josie. You wouldn’t consider a few more nights for old times sake?” She hates the purr in Gale’s voice as he uses the atrocious nickname he insists on using even after they terminated their relationship last year. She hates how she used to shrug in consent to their bullshit hookups. But she loves how now there is no reason for him and his arrogance. Not while she’s trying this thing called committing to herself and her needs, especially when it’s been working so well.

 

Snapping her eyes up, she stares directly into his pupils, coldly. Unfurling one of her clenched fists, Johanna wraps her fingers around the front of his white t-shirt and drags him to the front door. Not even giving him time to grab his tool box, she’ll drop it off in front of his door later.

 

“No,” she says sharply. “Thanks for looking at the A/C.”

 

“Wait, Johanna, you’re seriously turning down sex and air conditioning. Who the hell are you?” he calls from behind her.

 

“I don’t know but I kinda like it,” she smirks, opening the door and ready to swing Gale out into the hallway only to freeze and loosen her grip on his shirt. Standing before them, with his fist prepared to knock, is Haymitch in one of his rumpled Hugo Boss suits, skewed black curls and dark five o’clock shadow.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Johanna groans under her breath. Why today, any other day but today and she would’ve gladly dealt with Haymitch. Not now. Not in front of Gale.

Who is looking between the marginally startled CFO and Johanna, the cogs in his head whirling in a direction that she knows can’t be good.

 

“Lovely as always aren’t you, Sweetheart.” Haymitch grins as pushes past Gale, forcefully. Incidentally shoving the latter out of the apartment on wobbling feet and slamming the door behind him. “You don’t mind if I finished the job, did you?”

 

Johanna sighs, running her hand through her short spikes of hair. “Yeah I kinda did. But whatever. What in God’s name do you want, Abernathy?”

 

“It’s sweltering in here. And your place is a mess, d’you ever clean up in here or is that Annie’s self-proclaimed job,” Haymitch chides. Undoing the knot of his tie and letting the fabric drape around his neck; he examines the main living space and then the hallways before looping around into the kitchen.

 

“Shut up.” She trails up behind him as he starts to open cupboard after cupboard until he finds a glass and a bottle of scotch.   
  
“The hell are you doing!” Johanna swipes the bottle from his hands before he can unscrew the lid. He watches with interest as she clutches at it for dear life. Hesitant for a moment before venturing over to the freezer to grab the ice cubes.

 

“I thought you said - oh, a while ago now- you’d consider letting me serve myself,” he says nonchalantly as he twists the plastic tray, popping the ice cubes from their place.

 

Johanna rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but not under my roof. Rules are different.”

 

“Oh really? I’m sure if Annie were here, the rules would be the same. She’s the one who suggested - unsubtly - that I should come and check on you.” Haymitch straightens and stares down at her with his steely gray eyes.

"I don’t need to be checked on. I’m fine," Johanna insists as she mirrors his stance. Puffing out her chest and trying to gain some inches with a straightened back. The last thing she needs right now is to be up shown by him.

"I know, that’s what I told her."

"Alright…so then why are you here?" Confusion sets onto her face.

"Either you hand me the drink or pour it for me, I don’t have all day. Though, it’d be nice if I did."

"I’m not fucking doing shit until you talk to me! I thought we were good enough friends to be past the bullshit mind games."

He takes a long, deep breath. “Hanna, just…please.” Between the gentle plea and the unusual soft tone of his gruff voice takes, Johanna coincides without another moment's doubt. Carefully, she fills the glass half way.

 

Not a word is spoken until after the first sip.   
  


“It’s about the other day…”

 

Fuck this. Any day but today and she would gladly face forty-nine percent of her fears, tackled humiliation, and maybe even called her Mom for the first time since moving to New York City. Is it so much to ask for today just to be about the A/C getting fixed and people to mind their own.

 

“Alright...okay...go ahead,” Johanna breathes out, exasperated. “Say what you need to say.  No filter. I can take it. Not that I haven't had someone reach deep into my chest, rip out all my hopes and dreams and insecurities then ridicule them. Successfully shredding them to bits."

 

Haymitch blinks. Boredom visible in every crease in his face as he makes his way onto the beige, suede couch in the living room and flops onto it’s cushions. Lounging back, he takes another sip of the cooling drink.

 

“Think you should sit. Don’t want ya hitting your head on something when I give ya my two cents,” he slurs with relaxation. Stomping across the room, she drops into the chair adjacent to him with a scowl.

  
“Alright, well, first of all, you are not just ridiculous but a damn hypocrite. You need to stop sprouting that bullshit you tell Peeta about being good enough and deserving of love if you don’t believe it yourself. You’re not doing him or yourself any favours.  
  
“Second, you are stupid for thinking you’re less of a person ‘cause you don’t have a family. You might feel a little bit better ‘bout yourself if you did call your Mom though, Sweetheart. It’d curb some of the baby cravings. Though there is nothing wrong with you for wanting a house in the suburbs, or to walk down the aisle in a pretty white dress to a decent guy who’s willing to knock you up as many times as you want.

 

“Don’t you dare settle for just any man or you’ll wish you’d died at thirty, especially married to that Hawthorne kid. So, don’t sell yourself short, Hanna. You’ve got time to do all the things you want to do. And they’ll show up when you’re ready to grab them by the horns.”

 

Johanna remains in utter shock as she sits there torn between throwing himself at him and strangling him. She asked for honesty but something feels like he's no better off than her, spewing the same crap in hopes to make someone else’s life a little less miserable.  

Normally brazen, snarky and curvy in all the ways women don't like, somehow, when she looks at him now, with the drink in his hand and his eyes cast upward in yet hidden beneath the fringe of his dark, greying curls something seems different about Haymitch. Especially, the way his brows knit and head shakes like an etch-a-sketch.  

 

Not in a bad way but in the way that one would notice a tree standing at the front of their street for the first time. Johanna feels foolish for missing it now. Right there, standing right in front of her this whole time and just looked right past him. Thinking nothing of their daily banter, or the way he has her snorting with laughter first thing in the morning when all she wants to do is crawl back into bed. The way he knows her coffee order or that she cut her hair last week. Or how he's made a point to come see her about Saturday.

 

How could she have missed it?

 

"There are a bunch of papers on my desk I gotta get the Barbie doll to read over so I should get goin'. " he runs his hands through his hair as he stands, eyes shut firmly like he has a headache.  

 

"Wait," stop him in his tracks towards the kitchen. “Um… look, it’s getting kinda insanely hot in here. And I’m pretty sure there is enough sweat pooled under my boobs to last me a lifetime. So, I was wondering… can I bum some of your A/C until either the sun burns up or I can afford another machine?”

 

Johanna Mason doesn’t blush. But the way a small, controlled smile finds its way into the creases of Haymitch’s face. “Sure you can stay with me, Sweetheart. Bad news though, I’ve only got one bedroom, so you’re bunking with me; unless you prefer the couch.”

 

“Could be worse.” She shrugs.

  
***

 

Packing the bare essentials, Johanna’s done before Haymitch can finish his second  scotch. Having to gulp down the rest and toss the glass in the dishwasher, he nods for Johanna to head for the door first. When she finally locks up after taking one final looking at the home she’ll be leaving behind, though only temporary, Johanna is the one to guide him to the elevator. Where they board the empty, silver carrel.   
  
“By the way, one more thing,” she breaks the silence as they descend. “How’d you know about Gale?”

  
Haymitch smirks, arrogantly. “You think Finnick would let Annie live here if he didn’t do a background check; make sure everything’s safe for his princess?”

  
Johanna falls over with snorting laughter. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

The Odair boy is all her father and Gloss gush about, citing his intelligence, good looks and poise as something enviable of all men, particularly for a man who just lost his father. However, when she lays eyes on him above her champagne flute at the annual Reitz & Odair company christmas party, none of her father’s praises seem fitting for the fourteen-year-old that stands too tall and too straight at his mother’s side.   
  
She’s sure it’s all true: that Finnick Odair is as smart as they say - he is certainly as good looking - but it doesn’t come across as readily. He smiles when he should, flirts to make the ghastly wives of the dispersed elite giggle like they are his peers. If she weren’t blatantly aware of the metaphorical mask wrapped tightly around his face, she’d wrinkle her nose in disgust for his lack of finesse; however, having just sworn himself into this nauseating circus he had to be like every good performer and play the part with uncanny precision.   
  
And yet people would trample over each other to be in their shoes.   
  


* * *

  
  
Downing the rest of the champagne, she reaches for another one off Castor’s silver tray. In the split second that it takes for her to turn back to watching the crowd, Finnick looms over her bringing his shadow to encompass her.   
  
“Long legs carry you fast.” She breathes out, collecting herself before her eyes gaze up to meet his. Expecting a verbal response, he continues to surprise her by only offering a shrug.   
  
(nothing comes crumbling down).   
  
The silence that lays between them baffles her. With his mask still intact, where did all those words frivolous words go? How could he have forgotten them so soon? But as she scrutinizes, trying to figure him out, she finds something puzzling in his features - like there are a million gears turning in his head while simultaneously having none turn at all. Is he testing her; that’s what Gods do in disguise, no?   
  
“What are you thinking about?” Finnick asks, almost making her giggle.   
  
“I can’t decide who you remind me of more… Adonis or Narcissus.”  
  
Something breaks along his features, a muscle twitch if-you-will, the cellophane peels off all at once; falling to their feet in neat waves. She sees the poise as Finnick walks (almost floats) back to the ballroom floor.   
  
They don’t meet again until his mother’s funeral two years later.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
If possible, he stands impossibly tall as he shakes hands and accepts condolences from the people who whisper their pity of the Odair’s between themselves. His elder sister weeps furiously as his younger brother tugs on the elbow of Finnick’s blazer asking to go play.   
  
Finnick doesn’t shrug like she expects him to, but bends down and scoops up Sebastian and holds his tight at his side. When he catches her staring, his smile is small yet, subtly inviting, it draws her to him like the red string of fate. She makes her way through the crowd slowly, weaving around bodies until she is standing behind him. Sebastian waves and she waves back.   
  
“Thank you, for being here. Dad would’ve appreciated it.” Finnick doesn’t turn to speak.   
  
“Y-yeah, of course.” That’s the first and last time he makes her stumble.   
  


* * *

  
  
She doesn’t shift from her position as the crowd disperses and the house empties, even agrees to help him clean up at the end of the day - which makes her father extraordinarily proud.

  
When eight o’clock rolls around, his sister Penelope offers to put Sebastian to bed, leaving her and Finnick with steaming cups of tea in their hands at the kitchen table.   
  
“I’ve thought about what you said, and I think you’re incorrect in your assumption,” Finnick mentions, his nose deep in a kitchen cabinet filled with medication. Plucking a bottle off the top shelf that’s hidden behind a larger one, he twists the cap off and taps two pills into his open palm before swallowing them dry.   
  
“In regards to what exactly?” It’s been two years; though they haven’t said much, his reference could be to anything.   
  
“That I am some sort of god.” He takes his seat across from her, leaning back against the chair with more confidence than she’s seen in some chief executives. “Because I’m not.”   
  
“Really?” Her lips pull back in a smirk as she rests her chin on her folded fingers. “And why is that?”   
  
“The gods aren’t tragic,” he claims after a pause. “They create tragedies by enforcing their absurd sense of justice for ludicris crimes. I didn’t create my tragedies, let alone others’, I’m just a victim that now has to carry the weight of them on my shoulders.”   
  
“That makes you a Titan then, no?” She lifts herself from her place, swaying briskly to the other side of the table where she makes herself at home in Finnick’s open lap. If he minds, he doesn’t say. His glistening gaze finds her alluring one while the hands that rest in his lap wind around her waist, drawing her flush against his chest (still in his shirt and tie and she in a dress with a modest skirt).   
  
Their mouths find one anothers’, the kiss is chaste initially before bold curiosity gets the better of him. His teeth bite down on her glossy, lower lip. Her whimpers carry along the walls. He wants sounds back between the walls that aren’t desperate sobs of despair.   
  
Pulling her tighter against him, Finnick caresses her thighs as his hands follow the lines of her thin frame, and flirting with the seam of her skirt. Another moan rumbles between them and a fierce thrust of her hips into his hand has him smirking.   
  
“Do you mind if I call you Cashmere?” his voice is like a firecracker.  
  
She shakes her head as she dips back in to capture his lips, but he breaks away yet again.   
  
“Cashmere…”  
  
“If you’re going to tell me you’ve never had sex before just shut your mouth and I’ll show you what to do,” she growls impatiently.   
  
“That’s part of it… but, do you think I’ll be enough to hold up my world?”   
  
Dropping her head on his shoulder, she presses her lips to his neck. “We’ll just have to see, Atlas. Personally, with those sexy, broad shoulders, I think you’ll be just fine.”   
  
What she didn’t know was how wrong she was, how he snaps under the weight of his responsibilities like a branch in a hail storm. And that impossibly tall boy she once knew, now with a puckered ring around his neck, is no God, no Titan but the hunched, tragic hero he so badly wanted to be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I decided to make this separate from A Taste of Reality only because the summary for that didn't fit the direction I was going to take the rest of the story. Which will feature Hayhanna and Everlark, just give me some time to write them. :) Also: a big thank you to babydoll_ria and sohypothetically for all their help and guidance. And thank you to ro-nordmann for the banner! 
> 
> You can follow me at dorsalfinnick at tumblr.com where these chapters will be posted first.


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